


Eldest's Fortune

by alyoraShadow



Category: Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 16:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyoraShadow/pseuds/alyoraShadow
Summary: In which Morgan is cursed. Again.





	Eldest's Fortune

**Author's Note:**

  * For [antediluvian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/antediluvian/gifts).



In the land of Ingary, where such things as seven-league boots and cloaks of invisibility really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of three. Of course, Sophie couldn’t be sure that her son Morgan would be the eldest of three, as he did not yet have any siblings. But given how the first months of his life had gone, Sophie was fairly confident that she knew which way things were headed. 

“Poor Morgan,” Sophie muttered to herself as she stitched a small blanket for her son. “Oldest child of an oldest child. It’s no wonder things are so difficult for him.” 

To the untrained eye, the child in question might not have seemed to so ill-fated. Morgan was currently soundly asleep, snugly tucked into a cradle at his mother’s feet. A blue-tinted fire flickered merrily in the grate, near enough to provide a warm glow but not so near as to represent any risk to the wooden cradle. As Sophie bent over her sewing, she kept on foot on the cradle, occasionally providing a small push to keep it rocking gently. 

“Keep him calm and quiet,” Sophie suggested to the blanket as she worked. It was her primary request of most of the things she made for her son these days. “Safe and sound too, if it’s not too difficult. But that seems rather a lot to ask of a blanket, and I’m not unreasonable. Calm, though, calm you can handle. You are warm and cozy and relaxing.” She spoke in the confident tone she typically employed towards her sewing, but the truth was that she did not have terribly high hopes for the blanket. It was only the latest in the series of things she had made for Morgan that she’d hoped would keep her son a little calmer. They seemed, sadly, to have little effect on him. He was either a rather powerful wizard or a rather ordinary baby. Sophie had yet to make up her mind which one it was.

As if to prove her point, Morgan opened his eyes and began to wail. At the beginning Sophie had found the sound quite alarming. Human infants were just so much louder than kittens, and they needed a lot more help just to get through the day. 

“Hungry, sleepy, or in need of a change?” she asked her son. When Morgan was a kitten he hadn’t needed her help for any of those problems, and she had a feeling he still rather resented the indignity and loss of freedom. As a result, she did her best to take care of his needs as quickly as possible. She knew Howl was amused by the way she studied Morgan’s cries, trying to learn their distinct qualities. Howl also liked to go on about how much worse he’d had it as a genie than she and Morgan had as cats. Sophie thought he was a bit unfeeling about it all. 

She wasn’t having much luck parsing Morgan’s cries today, however. “You can’t be sleepy, because you just woke up,” she reasoned out loud. “And I know your hungry cry is much more urgent. So let’s check if you need a change.” She undid the cloth swaddle Morgan was wearing and checked. It was dry, but she could immediately see that something else was terribly wrong. 

“Calcifer!” Sophie said sharply. 

“What?” Calcifer crackled sleepily, poking his head up out of the grate. 

“I need your help,” Sophie told him. “Morgan has been cursed! I have to find a way to reverse the spell.”

“Cursed?” Calcifer said, with interest. His blue face leaned out of the grate and peered at Morgan, where he lay, still fussing in Sophie’s arms. “How do you know?”

“I’m a witch aren’t I? Not to mention his mother. I think I would know if my own child has been cursed.”

“What is the nature of the curse?” Calcifer asked.

“His skin is deformed and discolored!” Sophie said, looking back down at Morgan. “It’s fairly restricted right now, but I imagine it will spread. It probably already has. And who know what other side effects it may have. Remember that man we helped just last month? At first he was just a little bit green, no great cause for alarm, but before he knew it he was sprouting vines and thorns all over. His poor wife had to water him regularly or he would shed all over their carpets. What if it’s something like that?”

“But who would have had the chance to cast a spell on Morgan?” Calcifer asked, doubtfully. Sophie had to acknowledge that it was a reasonable question. She thought for a moment, casting her mind back over the people who had been in the castle in the past few days. There had been the young boy who had stopped by for a love spell that Sophie had sent on his way with a stern lecture about the use and abuse of magical resources. There was the farmer who wanted a spell to make his crops grow faster. Sophie had given him some water that she’s sprinkled with a bit of Cayenne, reasoning that it was likely to give anyone or anything a bit of a kick. There had been the overworked mother who had wanted a spell to get the housework done. Sophie hadn’t been too sure there was any spell that would do that, but she’d sent the woman home with one of her own cleaning cloths, in the hopes that it might have picked up something useful. None of them seemed likely to have cursed Morgan. They seemed to lack the means as well as a motive. 

“I can’t think who it might have been. I don’t suppose you noticed,” she said to a pile of papers stacked on Howl’s workbench. The papers rustled at her. Sophie rather thought it was their way of trying to be supportive.

“Deformed skin doesn’t seem that serious of a curse,” Calcifer offered. “Humans already look so odd, a little discoloration won’t hurt.”

“Oh you’re no help!” Sophie snapped irritably. “I don’t know why I bother asking you anything.” 

“Neither do I,” Calcifer said. “It’s not like fire demons have children. It’s not my fault I don’t know anything about them.”

If only Michael were here, Sophie thought. Michael had finished his apprenticeship with Howl some time ago, but he still came by the castle one or two days a week to help out with various jobs. Sophie did her best to assist the steady stream of people who came by the castle asking for minor spells or other forms of magical assistance, but it was nice to have another pair of hands. Howl was no help. Now that he was a Royal Wizard, he pretended to spend all of his time on incredibly important tasks for the king. As far as Sophie could tell he hadn’t actually done much of anything since defeating the Witch of the Waste. Only Howl could slither out of his responsibilities as Royal Wizard while simultaneously using them to avoid all other obligations. It was lucky she had Michael to help, or Sophie would have ended up doing everything around the castle by herself.

Michael wasn’t there, though. He was taking a few weeks off from wizarding, because he and Martha had just had their third child. Sophie knew that she could run to Market Chipping and have a word with Michael there. Even Martha would be willing to help her. For that matter, she could probably ask Lettie, who was both a mother and a witch herself. But Sophie found herself strangely reluctant to ask her sisters for help. She found she often felt that way when things were getting tough. 

“It’s just strange to ask your younger sisters for help,” Sophie said out loud. Calcifer did not respond, but Sophie did not really expect him to. After all, fire demons did not have siblings. Sophie doubted he really understood what it was like to be the eldest. 

At this moment the square knob over the castle door clicked round to red-blob-down and Howl came in. “Being a Royal Wizard is far too much work, you know. I did tell you it would be. Now the king wants me to – ” he trailed off as he saw the expression on Sophie’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Morgan’s been cursed,” she told him. “Again,” she added, in case there was any confusion about which curse was being discussed. “And before you ask, I don’t know who or when. I’ve been over everyone who stopped by the castle in the past few days, and I can’t think who would have had the time or reason to do such a thing. But the evidence is undeniable – see for yourself.” She held Morgan up for his inspection.

To her amazement, Howl began to laugh. 

“Howl! You are the most cold-hearted father I have ever met. I daresay you wouldn’t find it so amusing if you were the one who had been turned into a cat with him. This poor boy has been through so much already.”

“It’s true, he’s been through a great deal,” Howl said in a tone full of amusement. “First he was cursed by an evil Djinn, which is quite enough trouble for anyone to go through. And now the poor boy and now he has…” Howl paused dramatically, before finishing with a flourish, “a diaper rash!”

Sophie was relieved that Howl had recognized the nature of the curse so quickly. In her experience, half the trouble of breaking a curse was figuring it out in the first place. “What is diaper rash? Have you encountered such a curse before? How can it be broken?” 

“That’s the name they use for it in Wales, at any rate.” Howl told her, a smile still evident in his voice. “Megan’s kids have had it several times. It’s not a curse, it’s just a common irritation that happens when sensitive baby skin is rubbed by the swaddling cloth.”

“A common irritation?” Sophie said, her voice rising. “A common irritation?” 

Howl eyed her with concern. “Why are you upset? I’m not sure where to get the ointments Megan uses around here, but I’m sure we can make up our own without any difficulty. I imagine a bit of DRYING POWER in a dry swaddle would do the trick. Why don’t aren’t you relieved?”

“Because a common irritation is worse than a curse!” Sophie told him. A curse you could break and move on with your life. A common irritation meant that Sophie was so bad a mother that she couldn’t even tell when her own child was cursed. That was a much more serious problem.

It was an undeniable fact that Howl was lazy, vain and a coward, that he would spend hours fixing his hair and leave the bathroom in a mess for Sophie to clean, that he complained whenever he was asked to help with anything and sulked whenever he wasn’t, that he seemed to find things to needle Sophie about just for the fun of bickering with her. And yet, there were times when he seemed to read Sophie’s mind and know exactly what she needed to hear. 

“You’re not a bad mother,” he told her firmly. “It’s the sort of mistake anyone could make.”

“Only an eldest,” Sophie said mournfully. “I do seem destined to a make a mess of it all.” 

“Would me you like to fill the castle with slime?” Howl offered considerately. “I find it soothes me considerably when I feel morose.” 

“Don’t even joke about it,” Sophie told him sharply. “It wouldn’t soothe you if you were the one who had to spend days cleaning. Now go make yourself useful and get your son a fresh swaddling cloth.”

Howl did as he was told, muttering to himself. Sophie thought she could make out “completely unreasonable” and “easily cleaned” as he walked towards the bathroom. She studiously ignored him, fighting a smile. Despite what she’d said, the memory of the time Howl had filled the castle with green slime over some slight mishap did actually make her feel more cheerful. 

“How fortunate that your father knows a thing or two about babies!” Sophie told Morgan, as she bounced him gently, “Don’t tell him I said this, but we’re lucky to have him, you and I. Not a bad fortune for a pair of eldests, is it?”

Morgan burped happily, as if in agreement.


End file.
